


My Darling Sister

by kidd_libra



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Original Work
Genre: Abuse, Backstory, Backstory of my druid told through the eyes of her brother, Blood and Gore, F/M, Gore, He isn't supposed to be the most relatable lol, Incest, Obsessive Behavior, POV First Person, POV Male Character, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Rape/Non-con Elements, The main character is actually sociophathic, Twincest, Twins, Yandere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-07-06 10:39:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15884382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kidd_libra/pseuds/kidd_libra
Summary: Have you ever loved someone so much that it threatened to drive you insane? Did it make you ache, make you want to wrap your hands around their throat and choke the very life out of them? That's the kind of love I feel for you, my beautiful sister.Desperate.Raw.Pure love.





	My Darling Sister

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of the trashiest things I've written to date (not trashy in terms of explicitness, but rather, taste LOL). I hope you all take guilty pleasure in reading a story about my twins, and about how Vega just can't keep his hands off of his sister, Esther. This was a POV trash-take on her [Esther's] backstory I wrote for our DM, but told through the eyes of her brother. Please note that Vega [the narrator] has a few screws loose, and the things he does to his sister are non-consensual, no matter how much he believes they are. I do NOT condone any non-con relationships, this is not a grey area, what he does in this piece of fiction is Not Okay.
> 
> This is original work for the home-brewed D&D campaign I am currently in, but I still hope the narrative is clear and easy to digest!
> 
> Bonus points for anyone who can figure out what class Vega turns into, ehehe.

I can’t recall exactly when the feelings started, of when I began to suspect that I had fallen in love with you. Some part of me believes it’s when we first met, after mother spent all day pushing us out of her, and our eyes opened for the first time. My darling sister, you were the first thing I had ever laid my eyes on, newborn and innocent, and it was in that moment I felt bonded to you in a way unlike any other relationship I’d ever have in my life; it must have been love at first sight. Or, maybe, I had fallen in love with you before I ever laid eyes on you; perhaps we were always meant to be together. When you were in mother’s womb with me, did you not feel it? Twins, after all, are said to feel what the other is feeling. Could you feel how you made me quiver, even before I was born, before all the horror started?

 

...

 

You were my best friend growing up.

 

We weren’t allowed to go outside alone, the polished columns of our childhood home were the bars of our prison. Even if we begged, it was forbidden for us to play with the human children in our village—maybe this is when my feelings of being an outcast started. Mother and father kept a tight watch on us, probably because of the birthright we would one day inherit, but you never seemed to mind. You would just look up to me with your doe-like eyes, shining like fiery orbs, and ask me to play with you in the house. And, when we were old enough to play alone, you let me read you stories about princesses and dragons, about mysterious beasts and the heroes that slayed them.

 

“Vega, you read the best stories,” You’d always tell me, excitement bubbling up in your voice. You’d beg me to read them again, or to act out the funny voices of the characters. How could I deny you that pleasure? Saying ‘yes’ to you, watching your eyes light up with happiness, was something that I found myself living for.

 

In my hunt for better stories, I’d rummage through father’s old library, the one towards the back of the house. I remember recalling when I found a small journal, tucked away and smashed by the neighboring books. The house we lived in was old, and the book could have been anyone’s—either our father’s, maybe our grandfather’s, or maybe from somebody before them. The Common was scratched and dug into the thick, pulp pages, hurried and sloppy. It seemed whoever the author was, had met a strange man within the forests neighboring Pyral.

 

I read the journal in whole, struggling through the non-Common parts, learning about these creatures called vampires. I edited some of the more graphic scenes out, and shared the stories with you, when it was late and you would sneak into my bed for a short tale. They scared you, and you’d cling close to me between your gasps. Even then, at such a young age, my heart would skip a beat when you got too close. I kept my feelings a secret from you, worried what you might’ve thought about them; it was so easy to love you, I almost forgotten it wasn’t allowed. I remember when I once asked mother when you and I would be wed, if we could marry young or if we’d wait until we were older. I was only met with a horrified gasp. Shaking it off as a mere joke, she laughed away the embarrassment, and made me promise to never scare her like that again. I learned early that I was different—that the idea of  _ you _ and  _ I _ was wrong.

 

As the years passed, I saw the way mother and father chaperoned you. They didn’t trust you to do anything alone, and even though we were the same age, I felt as if they thought you were much younger than you really were. You probably didn’t see it, the way father decided to give me private lessons, or the way he’d nearly beat you if you stepped out of line. But I think father hated girls, and he’d often laugh and make some remark about you or mother. Mother would always ignore it, and you were never in the room. You only wanted to be my equal, and you got welts because of it. I can still hear the hard crack of his belt against your tiny hands. I think that’s when I realized he was insufferable and cruel, and I started to hate him.

 

Our days in our cold village were boring and long. I found myself often looking out to the forests around Pyral during my lessons, curious to what kind of creatures lived in them. When the lessons ran late, and father taught me by candlelight, I could’ve sworn I saw a strange creature once or twice, twist and deform its shape as it stepped into the village’s fences, seemingly unnoticed by uncle or the other guards. The next morning, after I had seen the creature the night before, the village had the faint smell of rot.

 

It never seemed to bother anyone before, or maybe they didn’t notice it.

 

And then one day, that girl got killed. I overheard uncle Boreal talking to father about it, about how the creature that did it wasn’t a beast, maybe not even alive. It happened late one night, and based off the description uncle gave, it sounded like the creature I had spotted before. Maybe I should’ve felt guilty for not reporting the thing sooner. Instead, I found myself curious about it, wondering if I’d see it again.

 

During this time, I wasn’t sure why I was so compelled to do so, but I found great joy in speaking out in front of mother, to say something horrible and see her reaction. One day, I said something about the dead girl, and I remember mother giving me a quick slap across my face. It hurt. I remember getting angry, so angry, but you calmed me down. You told mother I didn’t mean it, and your eyes were so innocent that I almost believed your plea myself.

 

Maybe I began feeling more bold around then, and so I pecked you on your cheek in front of mother, just an inch or two from your lips. Biting my tongue I excused myself from the table, my cheeks hot and embarrassed. My heart fluttered slightly, but my newfound boldness couldn’t be satiated with just a kiss, and I decided instead that I would sneak out into the forest to try and get a better look at the strange, rotting creature. Its sudden kill was the most interesting thing that has happened in Pyral, it’d be a waste to not investigate it.

 

It wasn’t hard sneaking out of the house; the real challenge was sneaking out of the village. Uncle Boreal had tightened the security around our barrier since that little girl died, meaning the gaps between the guards’ shifts were few, and like clockwork. Luckily Aeriol was on duty the night I first snuck out, and he was stupid enough to distract with some thrown rocks. I quickly ran into the forest while his back was turned, ducking behind some nearby trees.

 

It felt like I walked for an hour before I decided to head back to Pyral. The only issue was, even though I could somewhat see in the dark, I had lost my way between the trees. Whenever I thought I was getting closer and back on the path, I would run across the same tree or the same rock.

 

Just as I was thinking I was hopelessly lost, the familiar smell of carrion filled my nose. It stunk like the faint rot in the village, but stronger, closer. As I was turning around, a pale creature, lithe and unnatural looking, gripped my arm. I couldn’t release myself from its grip, and I was certain it would soon render the flesh from my bone. 

I was horrified, but something in me, something dark, was interested in seeing the bite, curious if it really could snap my bone in two.

 

But then I heard the snap of fingers together, and the creature loosened its hold on me. The stench of its clammy skin still made me feel sick, but I managed to ease my nausea as my eyes shifted from the rotting creature to the one walking up to me from behind it.

 

He was impossibly stoic, dressed in fine garments of shimmering black, and inhumanly handsome. His piercing, red eyes glowed in the thick darkness, seeming to stare right through me. He might’ve said something then, I couldn’t tell, since my heart was hammering too loudly in my ears. After dismissing the creature, the strange man hooked an arm around my neck and whispered into my ear.

 

“Oh my, another Volark? I thought I had told your kind I was done doing deals,” His voice was soothing, and something about it sounded familiar, like I heard it before. But it was a foggy sense of familiarity, as if I had only heard it before in a dream.

 

Before I could even process what happened, he placed his hand across my face and I felt my body grow cold as I lost consciousness.

 

And then I woke up in my bed. I awoke with a start, sweat covering my body and I struggled to fill my lungs with enough air. Had it been a dream? I almost shook the nightmare away until I saw the bruise on my forearm from where the creature had grabbed me.

 

...

 

Since that night I tried finding the man in the woods again. I would sneak out in the middle of the night, often for nights in a row, but with no luck. Something in my body pulled me towards the woods. What had he meant when he brought up my family? The thought of him being the creature, the vampire, mentioned in the notebook crossed my mind. The mystery plagued me, and for many months, I found it was all I thought about. I searched father’s library for all the information I could find, but the more I read, the more confused I was about the whole thing.

 

The only thing that would give my mind a break would be when you spent time with me, tiptoeing around our conversations and trying to maintain our friendship. My distance from you made you weary, but you still tried to rekindle the bond we used to have as young children. And, in your attempts to comfort me, I found myself falling more and more in love with you.

 

Besides the minor headaches from my research, the days seemed shorter, almost fun. We were both growing into our own people; you loved your books, and often told me how you’d be happy just helping mother, living a simple life in Pyral, and I lied about how I’d be happy with a simple life too, and about how I wanted to rule the Volarks. I wished for nothing more than to leave our dreary Pyral, our pitiful bloodline. You were the only thing keeping me here, and, though that might’ve been a sorry excuse for anyone else, it was enough for me. You seemed content with my answers, and for the first time in a while, everything seemed to be going right.

 

But, like always, father found a way to ruin things. 

 

I’m sure my face was just as shocked as yours when mother announced your betrothal. And to Aeriol? He and his idiot family weren’t good enough to even  _ consider _ marrying part of the main branch, let alone  _ you _ . I knew father had something to do with it, and mother confirmed my suspicions when she told me of his approval.

 

Something like fire surged through my veins, and I felt something lump in my throat, making it difficult to breathe. I wanted to spit the lump right at father when he asked me who I wanted to marry. He hadn’t given you a choice, and the unfairness of the situation caught me speechless. I paused. Was I upset because you couldn’t choose, or rather, was it because of another truth, the truth that the woman I’d like to marry… was already promised to another? I looked to you, your face flushed and confused.

 

“Give me time to think about it,” I excused myself, stalling to avoid saying something I’d regret. I grabbed your hand, making sure father and mother didn’t have a chance to sink their claws into you, and hurried you out the door. You were so grateful to leave the situation, so adorable with your persistent thanking, that I almost spun you around right then and there, insisting we’d run away together, away from our broken heritage. But the lump in my throat remained, and the words didn’t come out. Maybe things would’ve turned out differently if I had asked you then, or if Aeriol had never entered the picture. In either case, it seemed our horrific fate had been sealed that day.

 

...

 

It was torture watching Aeriol come to our home every morning, sweating and nervous as he brought flowers so obviously plucked from our own garden. He was cheap, uninteresting, and yet you smiled at him and told him you were happy to see him. I hated it. Father was too much of an idiot to see why I couldn’t pay attention to his lessons, of why I had seemed to lose interest in everything. It felt as if my heart was shattered, but I never blamed you. The fault lied in our family, in our duty to them, and so, even through the pain, I tried to bear the idea. But as time passed, you seemed so happy with him, and idea of you loving that waste of air started to slowly drive me crazy.

 

But then I saw the bruises.

 

“I fell, that’s all. Don’t worry about me, Vega,” You would say through clenched teeth, trying to fight away the prickling tears in your eyes. You were always a terrible liar. I remember cupping your jaw in my hands, examining the purple and green splotches against your cheek, wondering what Aeriol would look like if he were gutted like a rabbit, curious if his intestines were as purple as your bruise. The thought made me smile, and that scared me.

 

Against my better judgement, I told father about your abuser, told him to call off the engagement before you got yourself seriously hurt. He just laughed and said  _ I _ was in the wrong for trying to tell a man how he should treat his fiancée. He said the Volarks were dying out, and that we couldn’t be picky with who we bred with.

 

It made my stomach turn.

 

Mother didn’t help either—I’m sure father used to do the same to her—insisting that I was just imagining it all. I soon found myself accepting that this might be our new reality; you would marry that brute, and I’d be here, mad with jealousy and endlessly excused by our parents. I almost grew complacent about the whole arrangement.

 

Almost.

 

I had never seen you cry as hard as you did, when I tried bandaging up your wrist, swollen and blue from being tugged the wrong way. It was difficult for you to close your fingers, but you could close them—so I ruled out that it wasn’t broken, at least. Mother was no help, and father only looked expectantly, as if he assumed nothing less would’ve happened to you.

 

“I hate him,” You confessed through your tears, “I wish he’d just go away.” I wiped them from your eyes, and through your daze I promised to myself I would make things right.

 

Part of me stirred with excitement; whether or not my giddiness was from helping you or from me plotting out my dark desires, I wasn’t sure. My plan was immoral, I knew that, but it was the only way to fix things. At least, this is what I convinced myself.

 

It was late one night, and remembering the guards’ schedules was but an easy task. Aeriol was to be on duty alone, just from the start of midnight until the sun came up. It was surprising how easy it was to trick him, to tell him that I saw you, collapsed and exhausted after a nightly walk, just along the southern border of the village.

 

“I need your help to carry her,” I lied. He agreed to abandon his post, just for a moment, and tried to make lighthearted conversation with me as we walked to the most deserted part of the village. My fingers brushed along the hilt of my knife, hidden along my pants leg, and I bit my lip to hide my excited smile.

 

When he went on ahead to try and look for you, his eyes hilariously useless in the dark, I covered his mouth and shoved the blade deep within his throat. It only took a moment before his body fell limp in my hands, warm and wet from the blood. I had practiced the cut on a few animals before this night, trying to perfect it in a way to leave as little mess as possible, but there was no way to gauge the amount of blood that could pour out of a grown man.

 

Even so, I found it easy to drag his body out into the forest, hiding him behind a tree whilst I cleaned the stains out of the dirt path. It took me a while, but I was able to cover my tracks well, and went back to his body to drag him deeper into the woods.

 

It surprised me when I couldn’t close his eyelids; his icy blue orbs stared up at mine, making my stomach stir with anger. They were so alive, so open.

 

Open.

 

Open.

 

They wouldn’t close.

 

How  _ dare _ he look at me!? If the gods weren’t cruel enough, they left his eyes staring to mock me, to laugh at me! I took my knife and carved them out, cutting holes into his face and chest before grinding his eyes between his own teeth.  _ If the bastard had the gull to mock me, he ought to fuck himself _ , the thought flickered in my mind. Excitedly, I cut out his cock and stuffed it in his stomach, the hot reak of blood filled my nose as I forced him to fuck his own guts, black ichor greasing up my hands. From the humor of it all, I cried out and laughed like an animal in the dark forest. I did this for you, and I did this for me.

 

It took me a moment to search for the hole I had dug the night before, and shoved Aeriol’s corpse in it without care. Burying him felt like bliss. A smile had found its way onto my mouth sometime during the night, and the sense of euphoria I felt made it impossible to stop my giggling. I tore off my bloodied shirt and threw it into the hole, figuring I’d burn my pants later when I had the time.

 

Just as I was leaving the scene, I felt like I was being watched. Turning around, I was met with familiar red eyes, staring at me from the darkness. The man from before, the vampire I had read about, began to clap slowly from the shadows and chuckle to himself. It had been many years since I saw him last; I had almost forgotten about him.

 

“You’re much more interesting than I thought,” His soothing voice was almost a whisper.

 

Before I could reply, he cut me off, “Listen, little Volark, your motives intrigue me. If you ever need my help, you can find me here. All you have to do is bleed for me, and I will come.”

 

Just as the man was about to walk away, I called out to him. He turned around with inhuman speed, a wicked smile spread across his face.

 

“Wait, what is… your name?” I felt myself asking, my voice still shaking from the adrenaline.

 

He came in close again, close enough to grab me if he wanted, nearly whispering, “You may address me as your Lord.”

 

...

 

They never did find the body.

 

...

 

Summer returned to your eyes, and you began to smile again. I never did burn those pants. Instead, I hid them under some loose floorboards in the back of my room, under my bed. Maybe they had been my favorite pants, maybe I couldn’t part with the sweet memory of my first kill. Either way, whatever boldness had grown in me was calmed, at least for the moment.

 

Mother and father were still determined to marry off their children, and I wanted to spare you from any more heartache. So, like the loving big brother I was, I took on the responsibility myself. Aeriol’s plain, younger sister, Mistral, had been a pathetic mess every since Aeriol went “missing”. She had been so lonely that she immediately accepted my offer, nearly sobbing when I popped the question. She tried kissing me then, but I pushed her away.

 

“I want to wait until we’ve made the announcement official,” I lied. The truth was that she repulsed me; Her sallow, pale skin and colorless hair made her look as plain as parchment. And her eyes, identical to her brothers—they were the worst.

 

Her eyes.

 

Open, and so blue.

 

Something about them made me laugh, made me nervous. Did she know? Did she see me that night? It was impossible, that was true, but nevertheless, looking at her too long stirred something terrible in me.

 

If I stared into them, something in me snapped. I’d remember the pop and crush of Aeriol’s own eyes being chewed, and I’d end up with small laughing fits. She must’ve thought I was just a humorous person. And, even if she was terribly boring, I found that, at the very least, her eyes still amused me. I’d often wonder if they bled the same color as his.

 

After a few months of faux courtship, my leading performance as a caring fiancé proved successful, and I had convinced our family that I loved her. Eventually father and mother hosted a dinner party to announce our engagement. They invited all that was left of the Volark clan, and I put on my best, elated smile. My acting was nearly flawless these past few months, my only slip-ups being when you pestered me about it too much.

 

And then the day of the dinner came. I had picked a few flowers, some white and some red, and had mother help me arrange some of them. I really did plan to give one to Mistral, with your help, of course. But when I saw you laced up in that brilliant blue gown, the fire in your eyes shined as bright as the sun.

 

Your lips pursed while you picked the fairer bouquet, and I found myself biting my own lip. Without thinking, I handed you the flowers and stole a kiss from you; it was my first kiss—I had planned to give it to my fiancé that night, but something came over me, something I could only explain as animalistic instinct.

 

Your look of shock was understandable, but you shot me a nervous smile, as if you wanted to pretend that it didn’t happen. The soft crush of your lips lingered on mine even when I closed the door to your room, when I said that I’d see you downstairs. You tasted like mint and honey, and I bit into my tongue, drawing blood as I held my breath. It tasted like you, and it tasted like copper; I wasn’t sure which I was enjoying more.

 

I had only one thought as I walked down the polished stairs of our home: I wanted you. I wanted to take you, to take everything you were and stuff it into my mouth.

 

And now that I had to face Mistral, my disgust for her was hard to hide. The dinner wasn’t memorable, and father’s speech nearly bored me to tears. The only glimmer in the room came from your sparkling jewelry, and from your occasional smile, which was my only saving grace during the entire ordeal.

 

When the guests toasted to me and Mistral, when I was expected to kiss her in front of everyone, I remembered the slight quiver of your lips from earlier that evening. I imagined that she was you, my hands weaving into your flowing hair, as soft as silk, kissing your glossed lips, the same ones that begged me to bite them off.

 

And for just a moment, I could’ve sworn she tasted like mint and honey.

 

…

 

Talk of my involvement in politics was father’s new, favorite subject. House Volark, as you must've heard, was once a large, powerful house of nobles. Before the unification, before the birth defects and early deaths, we had power, land, and wealth. Father still held onto the old stories  _ his _ father fed him, and you and I, twins born without physical abnormalities, perfect in every way, were to become the foretold heirs of the Volarks. With our help, we could steer the Volarks in the right direction; we could once again become a powerful, whole family, or so, this is what father thought.

 

Nothing turned me off as much as the idea of staying holed up in this snowed-in village, full of these ill, weak, pathetic humans. I wanted to see the world beyond our forests, to see the mountains up close, or the sea, or the deserts. The large town our family once ruled had downsized into a small village over the generations. Pyral, centuries ago, was a safe haven for elementals and genasi, and the only reason our house suffered was because we let in outsiders.

 

If it were up to me, I’d burn this village to ashes.

 

And yet, even with all its imperfections, you adored Pyral. You’d help mother with the sick, took pride in your colorful garden and in your efforts to maintain the village. From all our conversations, you never once confessed that you wanted to run away. So, as much as I hated this place, I thought about how you might’ve missed it, deciding that if I ever were to burn it down, we could do it together. We could start our own family, our own home, with just the two of us.

 

...

 

Our cousin, Mistral had a lot of opinions. I’d put on an amused mask as I was forced to listen to her drabble on and on and on. Ever since the engagement party, you kept close to mother, and avoided me when you could. I began to suspect that you didn’t like Mistral. The thought made me curious. Perhaps, after our shared kiss, your love for me burned too hot? Did your heart flutter, threaten to burst in your chest, just as mine did?

 

Did you want me to call off the wedding?

 

Mistral was to move into my room after we wed in winter. The plans were set in motion, and, whereas I used to see you most of the day, our meetings grew limited to mealtimes, when you’d sit across the long table from my fiancée and me. You didn’t say too much to us, but you’d smile and reply when Mistral started conversations with you. Once or twice you’d look my way, cheeks flushed pink, sometimes biting your lip before glancing in another direction.

 

Obviously, I had to marry our sow-like cousin, if for nothing else, than just to protect you from another betrothal. Why were you so angry at me for it? Didn’t you understand why I had to do it? I know you wanted to be with me, but it had to be this way. I often wished our dinner times were longer, but the days grew short, and the snow started to pile. Soon it was too cold for long meals, and on days Mistral couldn’t join us for supper, you’d sometimes excuse yourself early.

 

…

 

“I’m the happiest woman in the world,” Her voice pitched up, annoyingly high to the ears, “Oh, Vega, I love you so much!” Mistral wrapped her arms around me when we kissed during the ceremony. My heart hung heavy as I took her as my wife, frequently looking towards you, my sister, praying you’d understand my betrayal.

 

The village center was decorated for the event, and after the private ceremony, my family had invited our neighbors for a short party before our dinner was to begin. You were never truly accustomed to drinking, and so I kept a careful eye out for you, just to make sure that you would be alright.

 

It felt like forever passed as I greeted everyone in our village with my new wife. Mistral, dressed in a gown two generations too old for her, happily celebrated with our neighbors, and I was grateful she did most of the talking. By the time the short party was coming to an end, I spotted you alone, trying to keep your balance as you began your trek back to our home. Mistral had gone back to uncle Boreal, chatting him up as they walked together in the house, and so, with my wife busy, I quickly jogged up to you and caught you when I saw that you were about to fall.

 

Your cheeks were pink, possibly from the wine, possibly from my arm around your waist. Why did you make my heart ache so? I loved you for it, but another part of me, a darker part, hated you for it, too. I wanted to tell you that I was sorry I had gotten married. I wanted to tell you I regretted this decision, that I really did only love you.

 

But before I could, you thanked me for catching you and ran ahead to mother.

 

The dinner was dull, and being forced to kiss Mistral after every toast was making me nauseated. You must’ve hated the kissing too, drinking any moment your glass was filled. Before dinner even ended, you kept shooting me seductive looks, as if you were trying to get me to excuse myself from the party. When you started to knock glasses over, an obvious act no one else seemed to pick up on, I offered to take you back to your room.

 

“Vega, I-I’m fine, really,” You lied. I knew what you wanted, and the thought made my cheeks flush scarlet, made my breathing hitch as I chewed on my own tongue.

 

“Really, Essy, I insist,” I played along with your game, helping you walk despite your weak knees and crooked steps. When we exited the dining area, just before the staircase, I lifted you as if you were my bride, and carried you up to your room. You were pretty easy to carry, most of the weight seeming to come from your heavy gown. 

 

I could barely hear my own thoughts as I locked the door behind us, the faint click echoing only for a moment before being drowned out by my hammering heartbeat. You mewled as I propped you on your bed, the soft blankets enveloped you and you looked like an angel lying amongst the clouds. I’ve dreamt about this night for years, the ache in my stomach twisting until it became an unbearable need. I  _ knew _ you wanted it as much as I did, and before I realized it, I had torn the blankets out from under you, and climbed up on the bed.

 

Your eyes were wide, probably from how nervous you were, and I kissed you hard before grabbing your thighs to position them on either side of me. I’d be gentle, as gentle as I could be; I confessed to you that I was in love with you, that this marriage didn’t mean anything, that being a part of this family was suffocating us. We could run away, it could just be the two of us. Your eyes lit up at the idea, I’m sure of it. You looked like you might’ve cried out so I placed a hand over your mouth, the hot sensation of your drool laced over my fingers. If mother or father heard, who knows what would’ve happened—and so—I decided as much as I’d love to hear you cry out in pleasure, I couldn’t risk your noises. Tears filled your eyes from how much you loved me, your own confession trapped in your throat, behind my hand. Gods, I  _ needed _ you.

 

It was hot and tight, and something about being inside of you felt so  _ right _ . You bit against my hand, cheeks slick with tears as I pressed in deeper. I love you.

 

I need you.

 

I  _ hate _ you.

 

As I crushed my hand harder against your jaw, the thought of it traveling down lower, to press it against your throat, crossed my mind. The world didn’t deserve something as perfect as our love, as us. They would just judge us for it. You made me crazy, and I thought that the only way I could be sane was if I were to kill you. I imagined your body limp, lifeless, strung open and displayed like my first kill. You were beautiful. You groaned against my hand as I came in you, harder than I’ve ever done before, our bodies finally one. If this was a dream, I wish I could stay asleep forever.

 

You were fast asleep by the end of it, and I brushed a strand of hair from your sweating face, tucking you in gently after removing the bulk of your gown. I should’ve felt happy, relieved that I was able to give everything to you. But something in me didn’t sit right. What was this… feeling? I wasn’t sure, all I know was that this ache plagued my mind for the rest of the evening, and even kept me from sleeping that night.

 

…

 

You didn’t talk much after that.

 

The same feeling that I had that night, all those months ago, still sat in the back of my head. Were you mad at me? I couldn’t talk to anyone about what happened, and I soon found that I began to isolate myself from you, from Mistral, from everyone.

 

After contemplating it for some time, I realized it was a feeling I hadn’t felt in a while: guilt. The way you were ignoring me, that familiar look of fear in your eyes, it reminded me all too well of how you acted with Aeriol. I… began to hate myself for what I did to you. Maybe you weren’t ready for us to go that far? Maybe I should’ve eloped with you first. Whatever the reason for your despair, I regretted it. If I could take it back, I would, my loving sister. I just wished for us to return to our old selves, before that night, before the murder, before the lies and mysteries in the night.

 

You started getting really sick, and mother and father thought it was because of your melancholy. On one particularly bad fit, you were bedridden for a week. I had tried giving you your space during your illness, but you just seemed to be getting worse and worse. So, despite my best efforts to keep away from you, I found myself knocking on your bedroom door one afternoon.

 

You allowed me to come in, and I sat by your bedside, holding your hands in between mine; I had so much to tell you, so much to ask your forgiveness for, but you flinched when I touched you, and your eyes stared up at mine, afraid.

 

“I’m sorry. If I could do things over, I’d… take it all back, Esther.” It was difficult to look you in your eyes when I apologized, “I really did— _ do _ —love you. I’m so sorry—”

 

It’s all I could muster out of my mouth, the words failing to sound sincere as it left my lips. You gave me a faint smile, probably out of courtesy, before tears welled up in your eyes, spilling over your cheeks. The smile disappeared, and with it, all of my hope of repairing this relationship.

 

“Vega, I’m pregnant,” The words sounded hollow, sad, when they came out of your mouth.

 

What?

 

Was it mine?

 

Whose else could it have been?

 

I wanted to feel happiness, that we’d be able to start a family together, but the guilt of my actions strangled me, your tears only fueling the hatred I had for myself. Even in the best situation, mother and father would never let you keep the child. If only they weren’t in the picture, I could maybe remedy this. You continued to cry, and I lifted a hand to wipe the tears from your cheek, but I stopped myself. I had lost the right to be your comfort long ago.

 

…

 

And so, I found myself back in the forest around Pyral, the air still and heavy, as if it were summer. If there was anyone who could help me, it was  _ him _ . The words were old, but still echoed in the back of my mind, his deep voice still sharp in my memory.

 

_ Bleed for me. _

 

_ I will come. _

 

I pulled out the knife I had hid along my pants leg, the same one I used to gut your abuser the previous year; It stung, and I bit against my cheek as I glided the blade along my wrist, the cold spring air eating away at the heat from my blood. I had cut too deep, maybe on purpose, and as the red stained my forearm, I began to feel a little light headed.

 

I was there for many moments, standing maybe ten feet from Aeriol’s grave. I was about to walk back to the house, injured from both my arm and ego, when a sudden rustling in the brush stopped me in my tracks.

 

Unmistakable. It was the same man I had met in the forest before, the same dark outfit, the same twisted smile, and most distinguishable of all: those piercing, red eyes. He held his hand out to me, as if the next step towards him would soon change my life forever. He was My Lord, the one who could fix everything I screwed up, and as I took his hand, his already twisted smile contorted into something inhuman.

 

…

 

I hated our family.

 

I hated our cursed bloodline.

 

I think I even hated you, the one who could smile and bear it all, the one who really could’ve pulled house Volark together. You were so happy, so accepted by the village, and just so content with your life. I wish I could be like that, I wish I didn’t have these urges, these terrible urges. I was jealous of you. I… hated you, Esther.

 

Yes, I hated you more than anyone else.

 

Being with My Lord opened my eyes to new possibilities. I had sought him out to make you mine, but… his promises of even  _ more _ tempted me beyond you. That man promised me power beyond my wildest dreams, promised me an escape from our dying, snowy village. I wanted to cleanse the world of the stain that was our family’s house.

 

No.

 

I wouldn’t stop there—I wanted to purge the world of all the weak, dying, pathetic wastes of air that roamed it. I’d hang them up by their intestines, and make them regret ever making me an outcast. I’d make a new world with their husked corpses, and I would rein over it, like a god. Becoming that man’s loyal servant seemed an easy price to pay for his power, for his patronage. And so, handing my soul over, I gripped his offer by the horns and drank in his poison.

 

…

 

That month in the forest was a blur of viscera, gore, and ichor. Like I had expected, he was a vampire, the same one described in the old notebook, and I learned to stomach the amount of blood he’d drink in front of me. He never did tell me how he knew our family, but he did teach me secrets I never thought possible; with My Lord as my mentor, the magic came easily, and the killing came even easier. Before the month was up, I was coated in so much bile, I couldn’t even remember what my skin looked like. And then the day came when he said I was ready.

 

His perfect disciple.

 

As I made my way back to Pyral, purposely walking in the open so the guards could find me, I recited my plan over and over in the back of my head. It was perfect; Before the week would end, I would make the first step towards my freedom.

 

…

 

The moon hung heavily in the sky—I was certain it knew what my plans were—and I waited until everyone was asleep before getting out of my own bed. Before leaving my room, I looked over to my wife, sound asleep next to me, and moved a lock of hair out of her face. It’d be a shame if she got up and woke our family, so I decided she’d be my first.

 

Clasping a hand over her mouth, hoping she was too groggy to scream, I summoned my blade and slammed it into her skull from the bottom of her jaw. Her eyes opened for just a second, too shocked to show emotion, and rolled upwards as the blood poured out of her mouth, over my hands.

 

I was going to leave her there; she was already dead. But, impulsively, I found myself sliding my bloodied blade against her nightgown, so sharp that it cut the fabric like a hot knife against butter. I couldn’t help myself. I  _ needed _ to know if she bled the same color as her brother.

 

With a few struggling cuts, I cracked open her ribcage, exposing her secrets to the night air. It reeked like raw meat, hot and disgusting. My giddy smile soon turned into a frown. How disappointing. It turns out they didn’t look the same, after all. I wiped the blade across our stained sheets, content as I dismissed the blade into thin air. With Mistral taken care of, there was no going back now—this would be my last night in Pyral.

 

You were the second person I had visited. I thought it’d be best to kill you before our parents, my loving sister. In the worst case scenario, I didn’t want you to wake up and see them dead.  As I walked towards your room, I felt my heart throb in my chest. Your door was cracked open, but you were sound asleep, happily cuddled up against an old rag doll. You looked so peaceful while you were sleeping, as if you were already dead. I summoned my blade again, the black metal already spotless since it’s last drink, and held it tenderly against your throat.

 

This was goodbye, my darling Essy.

 

And, then, I couldn’t do it. My hand was frozen in place, the blade just a hair from your flesh. I felt a familiar lump in my throat, tears threatening to blur my vision. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t. I…  _ hated _ you. I really did hate you, I did.

 

But.

 

“I still love you,” I heard my voice betray myself.

 

You shifted in your sleep and I moved my blade. I wasn’t strong enough. I wanted to leave Pyral behind, to leave  _ everything _ behind me, but you were still standing in my way. I had trained so hard in the last month, but all of it for nought. It wasn’t fair, I wanted to kill you, wanted to carve our child out from your womb, but as I drew my blade to your throat again, I couldn’t slice you open. Your hold on my heart was still too strong. I held my blade back to my side, my eyes lingering on your covered stomach for just a second.

 

I loved you. I even loved our unborn child. Something is wrong, terribly, terribly wrong with me. I’ve known this fact since I was a child. If it meant you two could live happily, maybe it was better that… _I_ was the one no longer in the picture. Without thinking, I drew the blade to my own throat, pressing the tip against my flesh hard enough to draw blood. Why was I like this? Aeriol, Mistral, I killed them both. And even though I loved you, I wanted to kill you, too. I can’t stop these urges, these _needs_ , maybe I was the one who deserved to die. My hands were shaking, sweating. Just push it.

 

Push it.

 

Push it in, Vega.

 

Sputtering, I whipped the blade down, causing you to turn a bit in your sleep. No.  _ No. _ I’m not in the the wrong. My Lord told me it was  _ the world  _ that was different, wrong. I made a promise to him, I had business to finish. He chose me, he said I was special, perfect even. This family didn’t want me, not truly. Father and mother wanted me for the name, for my birthright. Maybe you were the only Volark who loved me, and even then, you didn’t know the real me. My Lord was the first person to accept me for who I really was, for what I was capable of. He showed me great and terrible things, killing myself now would only disgrace him.

 

I told him I’d leave no survivors tonight. Looking at you again, my stomach tightened and I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep this promise. Before I left your room, I gave you one last kiss on your forehead, gentle enough to not stir you from sleep. Maybe not tonight, maybe after I got stronger, I vowed that I’d one day be able to loosen your hold on me. Killing you would prove that I had ascended into a life beyond all mortality, proving nothing can hold me to this crumbling world. My darling sister, one day I’ll kill you, and then, as your dormant chambers lay in my hands, I’d make you  _ mine _ .

 

…

 

I guess mother’s scream was a given, after I had stumbled into their room and she watched me butcher our father. It was supposed to be a clean death, and easy one, but when my blade cut into his body, all of my anger and hate for him came pouring out as fast as his blood. When I lunged for her next, she tried fighting me, clawing away at me but with no luck. As I plunged my blade into her chest, violently carving it out and splattering the walls with her, I let out a laugh. There was something liberating about killing her, something that reminded me of when I read about certain spiders, and how they’d practice matriphagy. I should’ve eaten her at birth, then at least I could’ve said she was a nurturing mother. Her death was long overdue, and I triumphantly tossed her body with our father’s in the side of the room.

 

Pulling my blade up to my arm, I began to wipe it clean of our parents’ filth. And that’s when I heard you stumble in.

 

“Oh, Esther,” I felt my lips pull into a smile at the sound of your name, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” I had been distracted with my cleaning, surprised to see you bleeding when I looked up. Your white nightgown, as white as the snow outside, was stained a deep crimson. The blood trickled down your legs, already shaking from the blood loss, and possibly more so from the sight you saw. You looked around the room, face pale and contorted from fear. It took me a second to figure out why you looked so afraid, my own gaze unable to linger from the deep, red stain on your person.

 

The baby.

 

“What happened to you?” Were you alright? Did one of those  _ things _ disobey me and attack you? No. No, that wasn’t it. My eyes looked again to your legs, the blood seeming to come from between them. You lost the baby, is that it? You looked so frightened, I wanted to hold you and tell you that you’d be alright, that I wasn’t strong enough to kill you. But, as I stepped forward, you ran away, pushing along the hallways to get as far as you could, as fast as possible.

 

You managed to make it out of the house and I ran after you.  _ Don’t go into the village, it isn’t safe out there! _ I tried yelling but my voice failed me. As I reached outside, I saw that one of those undead creatures had you by the arm, you were trying to fight it off but it was too strong.

 

Shit.

 

As I held out my hand, still running towards you, I blasted the creature with a beam of magic, hoping My Lord would forgive me for injuring his property. It recoiled and released you, and I watched as you glanced back at me, the most heartbroken look I had ever seen was across your face. I wanted to catch up to you but you were too far away, and before I knew it, your silhouette had disappeared among the trees. You left Pyral behind you, you left me behind you, and as you ran into the forest so thickly covered by night, I prayed you’d be safe, if only for the meantime. The village around me, flooded with corpses and desperate screams, slowly began to grew quiet.

 

I never saw you again after that, no word from you, no sign you survived. I figured as time would pass, you’d eventually become just a memory, the bittersweet recollection of my childhood and the reminder that soulmates exist. Some nights, when I laid awake at night, clutching my chest, I’d  _ feel _ as if you were still alive. It was seldom proved, but ever since we were kids, it was undeniable that there was a connection between us. My darling sister, the love of my life, I feel as if our fate is to meet again. Just as our hearts first began to beat as one in our mother’s womb, it might just be our destiny to die together as well.


End file.
